


Mockery

by dicks



Category: Katekyou Hitman Reborn!
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-06-21
Updated: 2016-06-21
Packaged: 2018-07-16 11:19:21
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 853
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7266007
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/dicks/pseuds/dicks
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Gokudera liked his coffee creamy with a splash of rum</p>
            </blockquote>





	Mockery

**Author's Note:**

> Note: Written for round II khrfest . Beta done by theotherdenise   
> Prompt: VI-1 Gokudera - reflections; mirrors in your endless mind

  
The stranger appeared again. The stranger appeared again, like Gokudera knew he would. This time he was wearing a dark brown jacket over a red turtleneck with brown slacks. His face was against the wind as he strolled along the lake but not even a single strand of hair was out of place from his perfectly combed mane. Then, Gokudera too turned and face the wind, and immediately regretted it as the smoke from his cigarette got into his eyes.  
  
The stranger wasn’t really a stranger. Gokudera knew his name, where he lived, how much money he had in his bank account, and almost every particular detail about him. Single, age thirty-four, working as a researcher for a big automobile company, been living with his partner of six years at the same lavish flat in Castiglione del Lago for the past three years, a cat-lover, a chain-smoker and an ambidextrous. Gokudera even knew how the stranger took his coffee every morning; black, three lumps of sugar with a dash of nutmeg for the spice. Gokudera had tried it once but did not like it. Gokudera liked his coffee creamy with a splash of rum.  
  
There was no room for mistakes. Gokudera had made sure of that. Gokudera was thorough and meticulous when it comes to doing his job. Gokudera, analytical and assiduous, almost a perfectionist, had stop eating meat when he was twenty-three because meat wasn’t good for the heart, but had chain-smoked since he was thirteen, a bad habit he couldn’t or wouldn’t shake so he didn’t even bother trying. Gokudera took his job seriously, for he had no purpose in life other than protecting Tenth, the family and completing every single mission he was assigned to, flawless. There were no room for mistakes and it _was_ a practical way of living.  
  
Blending with the shadows beautifully, Gokudera watched the stranger and thought on how the stranger wasn’t really a stranger. Perhaps it was Gokudera that was the stranger? He threw the cigarette he was holding and reached for the cold, solid metal in the breast pocket inside of his suit, still watching. Gokudera cocked his head to see clearly. The stranger who was not really a stranger sat on the only bench facing the lake. He had been coming to the same bench for almost every night since Gokudera had started watching him few days ago. But then, Gokudera could understand that; the view was simply breathtaking.  
  
Clasping the semi-automatic in his hand, Gokudera released a deep sigh. It was supposed to be quick and easy, something he _should_ and _could_ have done since the first day, but for some fucked up reason Gokudera found himself stalling, day after another.   
  
But whatever it was, it was inexcusable and unacceptable by Gokudera’s standards.  
  
Gokudera scowled at the sky. It had been raining earlier and the pavement was slightly damp, there were no stars visible, Gokudera noted silently; the chance that it might rain again later was sixty-five percent and Gokudera hated rain. Gokudera hated lots of things. He hated guns because they were a little too fancy for his taste but he had gotten used to it, he hated taking people’s lives but that had come with the job, he hated the aftertaste of the new menthol-flavored cigarette on his tongue but he had gotten used to that too. Gokudera had gotten used to lots of things— like he had gotten used to the smiling idiot and lately Gokudera found himself more than frequent being pinned underneath the said idiot as he was blissfully fucked. Gokudera had counted, five times on the bed, twice in the bathtub, once in the conference room after a late night meeting and once in the car. Gokudera hated the smiling idiot, but he had gotten used to it. Gokudera hated the smiling idiot, but he had gotten used to it and analytical as he was, Gokudera wasn’t about to ponder the implications behind his own action and of _hows_ and _why the hell_ he didn’t stop it from reoccurring. It was illogical but practical and Gokudera thought, sometimes there were things that should be left ignored.  
  
Gokudera lit a fresh stick of cigarette, feeling slightly numb from the cold and then took a step ahead towards the stranger whom wasn’t really a stranger, _make it quick and painless_ was his only thought as he stepped in front of the stranger— whom wasn’t really a stranger — A man? A subject? — and the subject looked up at him, eyes widened, lips parted but wordless and Gokudera couldn’t help noticing how the subject’s ash-blond hair looked almost to silver color under street lights. Pointing the gun between the subject’s deep green eyes, Gokudera pulled the trigger —  
  
And for the first time that night, Gokudera cracked a smile.  
  
-  
  
 _One day, whilst sauntering along the streets, I arrested myself in the act of murmuring, half aloud, these customary syllables. In a fit of petulance, I remodeled them thus; ‘I am safe -- I am safe -- yes -- if I be not fool enough to make open confession!’ - The Imp of the Perverse, Poe_


End file.
